“What do you want to do today?”

I looked up at her, still a little bleary.

“It’s your birthday. That means you get to decide.”

She was smiling. How could I tell her that I wanted to go to the driving range, spend some time on my allotment and to head down to the pub with John and Harry for a bite and the football? Her smile was filled with expectation that I would want to spend my birthday with her, making love, talking, maybe a romantic walk along the beach that she loved so much we had to move here. I cannot tell you when I had stopped desiring her, stopped filling my time with making her happy, getting her to share her thoughts, wanting her naked, horny and alone at the same time. It just happened. I caught myself trying to work out how I could get her off the subject some romantic weekend away because it clashed with the television coverage of the British Open. Decision time;

“Anything I want?”

I wanted to keep the lie going; I know that I should not have done. I raised an eyebrow and pulled back the sheet.

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